the works of edgar allan poe-5-第29章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
myrtles。 All _that _which is so indispensable in Song is precisely all
_that _with which _she _has nothing whatever to do。 It is but making her a
flaunting paradox to wreathe her in gems and flowers。 In enforcing a truth
we need severity rather than efflorescence of language。 We must be simple；
precise； terse。 We must be cool； calm； unimpassioned。 In a word； we must
be in that mood which； as nearly as possible； is the exact converse of the
poetical。 _He _must be blind indeed who does not perceive the radical and
chasmal difference between the truthful and the poetical modes of
inculcation。 He must be theory…mad beyond redemption who； in spite of
these differences； shall still persist in attempting to reconcile the
obstinate oils and waters of Poetry and Truth。
Dividing the world of mind into its three most immediately obvious
distinctions； we have the Pure Intellect； Taste； and the Moral Sense。 I
place Taste in the middle； because it is just this position which in the
mind it occupies。 It holds intimate relations with either extreme； but
from the Moral Sense is separated by so faint a difference that Aristotle
has not hesitated to place some of its operations among the virtues
themselves。 Nevertheless we find the _offices _of the trio marked with a
sufficient distinction。 Just as the Intellect concerns itself with Truth；
so Taste informs us of the Beautiful； while the Moral Sense is regardful
of Duty。 Of this latter； while Conscience teaches the obligation； and
Reason the expediency； Taste contents herself with displaying the charms：
waging war upon Vice solely on the ground of her deformity her
disproportion her animosity to the fitting； to the appropriate； to the
harmonious in a word； to Beauty。
An immortal instinct deep within the spirit of man is thus plainly a
sense of the Beautiful。 This it is which administers to his delight in the
manifold forms； and sounds； and odors and sentiments amid which he exists。
And just as the lily is repeated in the lake； or the eyes of Amaryllis in
the mirror； so is the mere oral or written repetition of these forms； and
sounds； and colors； and odors； and sentiments a duplicate source of de〃
light。 But this mere repetition is not poetry。 He who shall simply sing；
with however glowing enthusiasm； or with however vivid a truth of
description； of the sights； and sounds； and odors； and colors； and
sentiments which greet _him _in common with all mankind he； I say； has
yet failed to prove his divine title。 There is still a something in the
distance which he has been unable to attain。 We have still a thirst
unquenchable； to allay which he has not shown us the crystal springs。 This
thirst belongs to the immortality of Man。 It is at once a consequence and
an indication of his perennial existence。 It is the desire of the moth for
the star。 It is no mere appreciation of the Beauty before us； but a wild
effort to reach the Beauty above。 Inspired by an ecstatic prescience of
the glories beyond the grave； we struggle by multiform combinations among
the things and thoughts of Time to attain a portion of that Loveliness
whose very elements perhaps appertain to eternity alone。 And thus when by
Poetry； or when by Music； the most entrancing of the poetic moods； we find
ourselves melted into tears； we weep then； not as the Abbate Gravina
supposes； through excess of pleasure； but through a certain petulant；
impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp now； wholly； here on earth； at
once and for ever； those divine and rapturous joys of which _through' _the
poem； or _through _the music； we attain to but brief and indeterminate
glimpses。
The struggle to apprehend the supernal Loveliness this struggle； on
the part of souls fittingly constituted has given to the world all
_that _which it （the world） has ever been enabled at once to understand
and _to feel _as poetic。
The Poetic Sentiment； of course； may develop itself in various modes
in Painting； in Sculpture； in Architecture； in the Dance very
especially in Music and very peculiarly； and with a wide field； in the
com position of the Landscape Garden。 Our present theme； however； has
regard only to its manifestation in words。 And here let me speak briefly
on the topic of rhythm。 Contenting myself with the certainty that Music；
in its various modes of metre； rhythm； and rhyme； is of so vast a moment
in Poetry as never to be wisely rejected is so vitally important an
adjunct； that he is simply silly who declines its assistance； I will not
now pause to maintain its absolute essentiality。 It is in Music perhaps
that the soul most nearly attains the great end for which； when inspired
by the Poetic Sentiment； it struggles the creation of supernal Beauty。
It _may _be； indeed； that here this sublime end is； now and then； attained
in _fact。 _We are often made to feel； with a shivering delight； that from
an earthly harp are stricken notes which _cannot _have been unfamiliar to
the angels。 And thus there can be little doubt that in the union of Poetry
with Music in its popular sense； we shall find the widest field for the
Poetic development。 The old Bards and Minnesingers had advantages which we
do not possess and Thomas Moore； singing his own songs； was； in the
most legitimate manner； perfecting them as poems。
To recapitulate then： I would define； in brief； the Poetry of words
as _The Rhythmical Creation of Beauty。 _Its sole arbiter is Taste。 With
the Intellect or with the Conscience it has only collateral relations。
Unless incidentally； it has no concern whatever either with Duty or with
Truth。
A few words； however； in explanation。 _That _pleasure which is at once
the most pure； the most elevating； and the most intense； is derived； I
maintain； from the contemplation of the Beautiful。 In the contemplation of
Beauty we alone find it possible to attain that pleasurable elevation； or
excitement _of the soul； _which we recognize as the Poetic Sentiment； and
which is so easily distinguished from Truth； which is the satisfaction of
the Reason； or from Passion； which is the excitement of the heart。 I make
Beauty； thereforeusing the word as inclusive of the sublime I make
Beauty the province of the poem； simply because it is an obvious rule of
Art that effects should be made to spring as directly as possible from
their causes： no one as yet having been weak enough to deny that the
peculiar elevation in question is at least _most readily _attainable in
the poem。 It by no means follows； however； that the incitements of
Passion' or the precepts of Duty； or even the lessons of Truth； may not be
introduced into a poem； and with advantage； for they may subserve
incidentally； in various ways； the general purposes of the work： but the
true artist will always contrive to tone them down in proper subjection to
that _Beauty _which is the atmosphere and the real essence of the poem。
I cannot better introduce the few poems which I shall present for your
consideration； than by the citation of the Proem to Longfellow's 〃Waif〃：
The day is done； and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night；
As a feather is wafted downward
From an Eagle in his flight。
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist；
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me；
That my soul cannot resist；
A feeling of sadness and longing；
That is not akin to pain；
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain。
Come； read to me some poem；
Some simple and heartfelt lay；
That shall soothe this restless feeling；
And banish the thoughts of day。
Not from the grand old masters；
Not from the bards sublime；
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time。
For； like strains of martial music；
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor；
And to…night I long for rest。
Read from some humbler poet；
Whose songs gushed from his heart；
As showers from the clouds of summer；
Or tears from the eyelids start；
Who through long days of labor；
And nights devoid of ease；
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies。
Such songs have po
